#&&. dad’s on a hunting trip // musings

[relicsongmel]

Was doing some thinking today and realized that one of the reasons I'm really drawn to Kieran is because he's a rare example of a character that's shy (and usually good-hearted) but still has some rougher edges to him.

I feel like all too often shy characters are shoved into being portrayed as either "smol bean who would never hurt anyone and just wants friends uwu" or "brooding loner who snaps at people to cover up the fact they don't actually know how to socialize" with not a lot of wiggle room in between. While I can and do enjoy characters that (arguably) fall into those respective categories, they're a bit reductive in the sense that things are very rarely that black and white in reality. Even the kindest people have a limit to what they can tolerate. They have bad days or respond poorly to events around them that cause them stress. And the same can be said in reverse as well—point being, people are multifaceted and don't always behave as predictably as we'd like to think.

And I think Kieran reflects that dichotomy perfectly. When we first meet him, he's meek, timid, and relies heavily on his more brash and forceful older sister to help him navigate social situations where he would otherwise lose out on something valuable because he's too afraid to come forward and ask for what he wants (like how she has to ask the player to battle him on his behalf). He's often quick to cower whenever she starts to get heated, but he's also not afraid to point out when he thinks she's wrong and sometimes even gets sassy with her himself. He's undeniably sweet and gentle and shows eagerness to make friends with the player, but he becomes much more curt when he notices we're lying to him about Ogerpon. The rest of the Teal Mask storyline shows him fluctuating even further—yelling at Carmine and the player for keeping secrets from him, punching things in fits of anger...then backpedaling and apologizing for the trouble he caused a few scenes later. Spreading the truth about Ogerpon to everyone in the village to help make her happy...then selfishly demanding a battle to see who's worthy of being her Trainer when she has already clearly chosen the player.

After being lied to and suffering repeated losses at our hands (including the Pokemon he's idolized all his life choosing us over him), he leans even more heavily into his bitter side during the Indigo Disk—being cold and ruthless to pretty much everyone around him, but at the end of the day it's primarily overcompensation for what he perceives as his own personal weakness (because he's still just a kid trying to be taken seriously). He's shown to drop the act on multiple occasions—most notably when he's caught off guard by our appearance at Blueberry Academy and at a few points during the Area Zero expedition. He antagonizes the player up until the moment of his defeat and tries to catch and use Terapagos in a last-ditch moment of desperation that ends up going horribly wrong, but after everything resolves he's quick to admit his mistakes and asks the player for forgiveness and if they can still be friends. After the epilogue he's mostly back to his old self, but still seems to get worked up when provoked (e.g. when he yells at Drayton for refusing to stop calling him "ex-Champ" in one of their League Club Room interactions).

And I think this varied and sometimes contradictory behavior is precisely why Kieran is such a cohesive and believable character—because it shows how even kind, well-meaning people may have a hidden darker side that can show itself under the right circumstances. How they might let their insecurities get the better of them. How a shy, timid kid might not have the experience to know how to deal with sudden feelings of frustration and/or jealousy that are far too strong to keep to himself, so he lashes out as a result. How despite all this he remains kind, sensitive and loving at his core and shows willingness to learn from his mistakes. And that is what makes him so compelling to me.

[leatherandbourbon-a]

Tag dump!

[leatherandbourbon-a]

@snnynatural it's dean and sonny help

[nmakii]

I CANT HELP IT! IM SORRY but we know Al dies in his late 30s early 40s so we can assume he at least got to watch his kids grow up into young adults? What happens when Al dies and reader is “set free?” Only to figure out her children aren’t all who they seem to be? I can see reader’s son possibly becoming a corrupt detective/cop and perhaps her daughter gets into fashion or becoming a teacher? Im not sure what Emi’s future might be but im very curious on your thoughts!

UH OH, SHE’S LOSING HER CONTROL!

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!!]

— and when it seemed like there was no more hope, the monster of the house was slain.

and so, 12 years passed by like a breeze. despite being trapped in this hellhole called home, it was all worth it. for the children, all of it was worth it. noah, just 22 and he’s already a fine policeman, keeping the people in line. and the family treasure, emilia— aged 15, and yet a smart little girl. starting her own little farm outside, from cotton to potatoes, and keeping the family afloat. such wonderful kids, it’s a miracle alastor’s manipulations didn’t rub off on them.

1933, times were tough— the stock market crashed, the bank had failed, and everyone was living off of rations. thankfully, radios gained more popularity, and alastor had profited off of it, making sure his little family was fed with a roof over their heads— he seemed to not only enjoy the newfound wealth, but also the suffering in the streets... suitable for a monster such as himself. and while he worked, you and emilia had used the cotton from her farm to create and sell dresses, your own little effort to the community.

still, that didn’t change the hell that was outside your little safe haven. it wasn’t rare for young men to knock on your door, begging for work. and while your heart felt for them, it couldn’t change what alastor had in mind for them. he’d bring them in— down into the basement. and that very night, suddenly there was meat on the table.

you knew what he did, you weren’t an idiot. he gave you that man’s flesh. but, you did what you had to do. for the children, so that they’re well-nourished. and against your better judgement, you followed through, serving what seemed to be a steak. your husband seemed to love your ultimate submissiveness, one way or the other, you’d give into his ways. although it made your stomach churn, the very thought of eating the poor man, it was hard to live during these times, it was what had to be done.

and, it was why you let your children on a hunting trip with him. “little emi’s first trip! you excited, lil’ sis?” noah laughed, patting his sister on the head. “don’t do that, you’ll mess up my hair!” emilia frowned back. alastor laughed at the two as he held you by the waist, “oh, those two!” he mused, looking back to face you. “we’ll be home in time for dinner, my love. i love you so very much!” he smiled, kissing you all over. you hated whenever he did that— when he acted like he’d done nothing wrong, yet you didn’t fight back. what point was there to it? 15 years, and he’s managed to keep you in this house, there was no more use in fighting back.

“okay. just keep them safe, alastor.” you said as he pressed his nose against your’s. he smiled against your lips and laid onto you one final kiss. “don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear. i’ll protect them with my life.”

and, that was the last time you saw him.

when your children came home, they looked frightened. “m..momma…” emilia whimpered. “oh, baby, what’s wrong? where’s dad?” you asked, running towards them to make sure they were safe. “…ma…” noah let out. “dad’s dead…” he said, ashamed to look you in the eye. “he’s… dead..?” you asked, dazed. “momma! i-i didn’t mean to!” your daughter cried, pulling you closer to hug. “you didn’t mean to..? emi, what happened?” you pulled your daughter far away enough to see her teary-eyed face.

“…i shot dad…” she said, hiccuping in-between words. your eyes widened at her words. “d-dad was on his knees in the dirt, so i thought he was a deer ‘n i shot him…” she explained, wiping her tears. “momma, i don’t wanna go to jail.” she cried out. “don’t worry, baby. you won’t go to jail. you didn’t mean to…” you kissed her on the forehead.

standing up properly, you looked your son in the eyes, wet as he tried to hold his tears back. “baby, i need you to show me where dad is, i’ll take care of it.” you said. “y-yeah, ok, momma… i’ll take you there…” he nodded his head. “emi, go prepare dinner while i’m gone. momma will take care of this mess.” you told her as she nodded her head.

when you arrived, alastor’s body was mangled beyond recognition, the only way you knew it was him was by the clothes he wore— it must have been someone’s hunting dogs, that means it’s possible somebody already discovered the body, and is headed to the police station. the only possible reason alastor could have been here and on his knees, as emilia said, must have been to dispose of a body. so, the ground beneath you must have a corpse. only the lord knows how many bodies alastor could’ve hidden here. but then, you had an idea.

but, first, you had to check. you dug the dirt below alastor’s body. and lo and behold, was the corpse of noah’s friend-turned-enemy, kenneth. “d…did dad kill ken..?” noah asked, afraid of the answer. “i suppose he did.” you said, frowning over your own answer. did the years truly turn you as heartless as him..? “now, noah… if you don’t want your sister to be locked away in a correctional facility, you’ll help me. understand?” you asked, speaking for the first time with a strict tone. “y-yes, momma…” he said as he pushed back in about 3 feet of dirt. he helped you lower his father’s mangled corpse into the grave, pushing back the remaining 3 feet of dirt.

“now, dear… i need you to head back to your station and see if any hunters reported a corpse in the forest, okay? and, make sure those police dogs you have sniff this area, so that they can find dad…” you said to him, explaining your plan. “yeah, okay, momma… i don’t want little emi going to jail…” he said. this was wrong, but it was to protect your family. for the children, right? you won’t let alastor ruin the family even in his death. if those cops found out that emilia killed alastor, they’d try to punish her for all of his crimes as well.

and with that, you returned home. and when noah came back, he returned triumphant. “they bought it, momma. don’t you worry, emi. no cops are gonna take you away. if they try, i’ll kill ‘em” he assured her, hugging his little sister as the weight on her shoulders fell.

this is good, right? even though it resulted in alastor’s death, all three of you are free from his manipulations. and, yes, you framed an innocent hunter— but, it was to protect the family. after all, you raised such wonderful kids, they don’t deserve to go to jail. they’re so kind, they’d dirty their hands for each other. and… that’s a good thing, isn’t it? they’re loyal to their family.

but then, the guilt finally started to settle in.

and it weighed on your shoulders when they finally lowered alastor’s casket into the ground.

1891 — 1933

loving husband and father

he will be missed by all who knew him

the monster was finally gone.

[flamingpudding]

Modern (Fenton) Ghost Hunting Part 1

Ties to: Post from under 'It started with a Ouija Board' found in the Masterpost

A/N: I got a little stuck with this and there is another bigger fanfic project I started working on that has me distracted. But I wanted to post at least part of this before I might end up in radio silence for three weeks cause I am visiting family out of country and have no idea about internet access there yet 😅

Danny was in a good mood as he slurped the ecto-shake his mom had made upon his return from the Zone. It was one of the more harmless and ghost helping food inventions his parents had come up with, once the truth was out of the bag when he was more or less forced to take on his kingly duties. Though his mom's ecto-fudge special (that was also one of the few ectoplasm infused foods not coming back to life) made for only him and Ellie was even better than the shakes. It wasn't better than their special family recipes their Dad loved so much but it came a close second.

He sipped on it more as he fell back into the couch as he flicked through some TV channels. His last trip to Gotham had been a month ago and he mused that he probably would need to visit soon to update Lady Gotham on the status of the Garbage Disposal Leaks. It was a pain to deal with but hey at least he, for once, got to be the mean guy to yell at the observants how they could have left these alone for over a hundred of years.

Seriously? If he could, he would stick Sam and one of her righteous rants onto them too.

So yea Danny was in a good mood he had gotten rid of another leak which only left a couple more to take care of and then put the observants into their place with another petty with hidden insults filled and Sam inspired as well as co-authored lecture.

He would give Lady Gotham a present for giving him such a great opportunity with this problem, even if that wasn't her intention. There was also a rumor in the GZ that Box Ghost and Walker had gotten beat up by Lady Gotham several times while he was busy, he would like to hear what that was about.

In all this Danny completely forgot about his encounter with the vigilantes and that his parents told him about a new business partner that was interested in their Fenton Ghost Tech that wasn't weaponry but focused on co-existence, like the Fenton (blob-)ghost feeder.

So when the doorbell rang and Danny went to open the door, thinking it might be one of his friends. He nearly choked on his ecto-shake as he came face to face with a person he only knew from paparazzi shots or Tucker's endless rants about their technology.

"Hello, I am Tim Drake-Wayne! I believe I have an appointment with the Drs Fentons? I am not too early am I?"

-------

Red Robin was on his wits end. After the first success he had used various more 'modern' summonings in hopes of getting their ghost to show up again. But most of them ended with the same white ghost or only one other ghost claiming their name as Box Ghost to appear. Strangely when they did appear, after about a minute after their appearance an invisible force started to attack them to which these ghosts instantly turned tail and 'unsummoned' themselves. They didn't even give Red Robin the chance to ask anything.

In the end after the third time of summoning that white ghost called Walker, the ghost peeked out from that portal once and the moment they spotted him sunk back into it. Not even bothering to tell him about any rules RR might have broken. Since then none of his summons appeared to work anymore.

Though the vigilante at least concluded that whatever had attacked their teenage ghost most likely was also the driving force behind Walker or any other ghost refusing to answer his summonings. He had suspicions that might have something to do with Lady Gotham, the teenage ghost mentioned and had been unable to summon at all.

Of course Red Robin couldn't leave it like that so he dug deeper into the whole ghost cult thing and came across published research papers. Apparently the ghost cult wasn't just an occult but also a science, that he highly doubted was real. The deeper he dug the more concerned he became, for one that ectoplasm they mentioned looked awfully a lot like Lazarus Water, and second the research from the Drs Fenton he found was awfully a lot biased until a year or so ago when they suddenly invalidated all their previous research and published a nearly completely different thesis.

Though the teenage vigilante had to admit everything they offered on their website looked a whole lot more modern and right out of a SyFy movie than any of the tools he had already purchased, from a ghost Wikipedia (which surprisingly included information about Walker and that Box Ghost), to protective gear, to feeders and ectoplasm infusers.

So after a small recon with his siblings and listening to their disagreement and another rant from their youngest about Pit Demons, Red Robin made the decision to check these Drs Fenton out undercover. And who better to do that than Tim Drake-Wayne, CoCEO of Wayne Enterprise who got interested in their ectoplasm-powered gadgets designed for co-existing. After all Gotham might just be as hunted if not more with the crime rate they had.

His siblings were not happy, he knew that but he took the earliest chance he had, to take a private plane to Amity Park and made an appointment with the Fentons on a saturday afternoon.

He made sure to smile pleasantly as the son of the Drs Fentons opened the door and took his time staring. Before finally inviting him in after a shout from the Drs. resounded somewhere behind him in the house. Tim of course eyed the glowing green shake the other teenager was drinking, already forming plans on getting a sample of it the first chance he got.

"Mr. Drake! Such a pleasure to have you here! You have already met my little boy Danny, my husband will join us later he got hold up by my daughters. But we do have a couple of inventions prepared for showcasing, we could also go over some of the theories first if you prefer until my husband can join us.." A woman came up shaking his hand and the teenager, Danny, stepped away from them retreating further away but staying in earshot, Tim noted.

"Dr. Fenton, thank you for having me. I am looking forward to learning about this ecto-energy and your Fenton-inventions, I believe one was called an Ecto-Infuser?" Did he imagine it or did that boy cringe? Also the boy was clearly watching him, he tried to appear nonchalant but the way the other teen's eyes followed Tims every move as well as the guarded look in his eyes was making it obvious.

"The Ecto-Dejecto, originally designed to weaken ghosts but is now one of the many medical tools that can help a ghost survive if they do not have a steady supply of ectoplasm." Dr. Fenton easily explained while leading him over to the seating area.

"Danny be a dear and bring our guest something to drink. Coffee or Tea?"

"Coffee would be fine." Not like he would actually drink it. As much as he and his siblings made fun of Bruce's paranoia, he was not about to drink coffee offered by people who research ghosts. Besides, looking around, he wasn't sure how well they followed OSHA and he wasn't about to potentially drink a coffee infused with Lazarus Water. If that ectoplasm was Lazarus water. But he would take it with him as one of many samples.

"Sure things mom. Should I bring out the fudge too?"

Tim's ear twitched and he turned ever so slightly in the direction of the son. No it couldn't be, could it?

"Oh please be so kind."

"Will be right back."

Now Tim wished he had forced at least one of his siblings along. Because if his ears didn't betray him then this teenager had the same voice like the ghost kid. Though his memory could be slightly impaired because of the time frame since he had last heard it. He would need to get a voice recording now too and play it to his siblings.

[literally-arkansas]

I could fix him (I would make him worse)

Clay Puppington x reader

•

Bartending was never easy. You didn't go into the job thinking it would be a breeze, but you'd hoped working somewhere called 'Moralton' might give you any sort of reprieve.

It did not.

There were some characters in town, with various stories, who opened up to your listening ears simply because they had no one else to tell or their lips became too loose. All were various levels of sad or concerning, but none stuck out more than that of Clayton Puppington.

He liked to blame others for his mistakes, always had to be on top. He got angry when he was drunk, and spiteful and brash. But he also cried, easily broke down, and all too often would go from looking like top dog to sobbing into the counter. His face would get red and scrunch up through tears, or he'd slam on the table as he silently sobbed, yearning for more whiskey. It was clear as day he had something deeper going on, always opening up to you but never enough.

Safe to say, Clay was a piece of work. The way he sobbed when he got angry suggested that somewhere within him, at one point maybe he wanted to see himself get better, but it was easier to see others get worse.

And you knew this, of course, but to see him frantically slamming his fist on the thick glass window on Easter Sunday was a whole new level of low.

You yourself had only showed at the bar to do a little bit of spring cleaning. Forghettis was closed for the holiday. In a perfect world, one that was clearly not this one, the citizens would all be spending time with their families or friends rather than alone.

Whether or not they were drinking was a personal choice.

With a sigh, you brushed back your hair and took purposeful steps to the door. Your shoes stuck slightly to the ground, a result of a few poorly mopped spills over time. Bells jangled as you opened the door and peeked out, stepping one foot out into the sidewalk.

"Clay," you called out, your eyes scanning him hesitantly. The well dressed man immediately came to attention, trying to compose himself regardless of the fact you'd seen him in worse states. His brown eyes locked on yours, more admiration than you could claim you'd ever seen in them. "We're closed."

"C'mon, just one drink. I haven't been here in... what, a week?" Somehow Clay managed to be grumbly even when he begged. His brown hair was slightly disheveled, a cowlick sticking out from the rest.

"Three days," you corrected. You couldn't help yourself from thinking, 'and I doubt you've been sober for any of them.'

As you spoke you scanned the sidewalk, checking for any by standards who might see what was about to happen. It was likely wrong of you to do any part of what you were doing. You were closed, for one thing, and it was ridiculous you would break that for one man (and one man only). You knew exactly why you were doing it, too, bad intentions and selfish wants.

With a sigh, you nodded. "You have until I finish cleaning."

Clay's face lit up as much as you'd ever seen it. He was quick to follow you, his hand brushing against your lower back as the door shut almost immediately behind you. His hand was warm against you and full of light you'd never seen in him.

"So, where have you been?" you asked, peeking behind you to glance at the man. You walked in, a route you could've taken blindfolded, behind the counter of the bar.

"Hunting trip with the kid," Clay explained, nonchalant. "We caught a lot of nothing but I got a lot of something. What're the odds you have brandy?"

An eyebrow quirked at the lack of use of his son's name. Mindlessly, you poured him a drink. Immediately, he threw it back.

"That's a shame. My dad took me hunting when I was little, too," you mused, reminiscing on a time long ago. "I always felt a little guilty killing things, but my dad always told me it was getting them closer to God, and then we'd pray for them. And we never killed anything we wouldn't eat.” Clay’s eyes followed you as you walked up and down the length of the bar, wiping away unforgettable nights, as well as those too good to remember. “I don't think he ever saw it that way, actually. He was just thinking of me."

Clay's eye twitched as you handed him another drink. "Why would you be appreciative of him lying to you?”

Clay must've drank before coming to be talking like this. It wouldn’t surprise you if the whole reason he’d come was because he’d exhausted his personal collection.

Deep down, a little part of you liked to think he’d came just to see you. Such a shame, the state he was in. Such a shame, the state you were in.

"It was comforting,” you replied, trying to be gentle. Parenting him, almost. “I don't think he was lying, either. He just… put it into a perspective that made me feel safe.”

"He sounds like a wuss,” Clay commented, throwing back another shot.

"He made quite a few sacrifices for me, and sometimes maybe one of those was… being gentle,” you replied, a little bit more edge on your voice. As you saw it, part of masculinity was being brave enough to set it aside when the time counted.

"Sacrifice!” Clay laughed. Rather, guffawed. “Boy, do I know about sacrifice. I made the ultimate sacrifice, you know. My happiness for my kids. And I do it over and over and over and over again, day in and day out.” He banged on the bar, his words slurring.

As you attempted to craft a response to that that would be even a little bit constructive, the door swung open and there appeared Reverend Putty, slightly disheveled.

"We're over!" Revered Putty shouted, pointing at somebody outside the door. Much more calmly, he turned to gaze inside the depressingly darkened room. "Didn't think you'd be open on Easter.”

"That's because we're closed,” you commented, your eyes softening. “I’m sorry, Reverend.”

"What's he doing here?” Putty asked, somewhat annoyed. He shot an accusatory gaze at Clay.

You looked from the disheveled Clay to the mildly depressed Reverend. "He's doing a routine health inspection.”

"Goddamn it,” Putty grumbled, stepping out the door. “I'll be back tomorrow.” The bell on the door jingled merrily behind him.

Clay laughed animatedly. “What a loser! That guy finally loses his virginity and it's to the ex Ms. Papermouth.”

"He probably had a pretty good time if she has an ex husband,” you commented.

"It can't have been that good if he's an ex!”

You scoffed, nodding exaggeratedly slowly. Shots fired. "Maybe she broke up with him,” you suggested.

As if the devil had called, the door opened once again, exploding the room with a blinding level of light.

“Hello?” Mr. Papermouth, the town’s policeman announced as he let himself in.

“Look who it is!” Clay exclaimed with an exaggerated laugh. “We were just talking about you, you know-“

Papermouth’s eyes widened, and you shut that down before he could bring himself in and start a fight. “No, we weren’t. We’re closed.”

“You don’t look closed-“

“We’re closed. Easter Sunday.”

“Why is he here?” The same question you’d already heard. Like history repeats itself.

“He’s just about to leave,” you said, giving Clay a pointed look. Officer Papermouth gazed skeptically, but eventually showed himself out.

Clay chuckled heartily, shaking his head. “Everyone in this town is so pathetic.” The irony of his words was not lost on you. “Can’t satisfy his sorry excuse of a wife.”

“Everybody’s going through something,” you reminded him. “It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t come in here and drink himself away.”

“Yeah, good, so I can do it alone,” Clay remarked.

“Wouldn’t you rather *not* be alone?” The question was genuine, hinting at something deeper you shouldn’t have even been thinking.

“Being alone is the only way to be,” Clay stated. He gestured for you to refill his drink, which you reluctantly did, wiping the counter. “Others are weak, but not me.”

“Having support doesn’t make you weak,” you stated, cocking your head to the side slightly.

“Who told you that?” Clay laughed out loud. His face was turning a soft shade of red. “Your *father*?”

“Actually, yes, he did,” you snapped. “And he taught me patience, and you better thank God he did, because otherwise I’d have kicked you out too.”

“Then kick me out! But I bet you can’t, because you rely on others,” Clay taunted. He said haughty in the barstool, his arms crossed over his chest. “You need me here.” Still, he watched you closely, waiting for your response.

You shook your head, conflicting feelings in your heart. Above the rest was a growing annoyance, uncertain why you hadn’t removed him yet.

“I don’t need you here,” you insisted, not technically lying. “In fact, you’ve got about five more minutes before you have to pack it up.”

“I doubt you’ll enforce that,” Clay commented, although he didn’t sit so big anymore. “You and everybody else are so desperate for a friend. I bet your father was just as much of a pushover as you.”

(Why he was so fixated on the relationship between you and your father was uncertain, but somewhere within you you knew it was something about Orel. He was projecting.)

"Clayton Puppington, I will not hesitate to ban your entry if you say one more bad word about my father. He was a great man and an even better parent.”

Clay scoffed. Never knowing when to quit, he challenged, "If he's *sooo* great, how come I took his job?”

You weren't sure if he was trying to provoke you or just that drunk, but you didn't care. He probably wouldn't remember it the next day, anyway. Red filled your head, spurred on by all sorts of things you weren’t ready to understand, but most of all by his blatant disrespect for your family.

Before you were even aware of your hand moving, you hit him.

Clay's eyes went as wide as yours when the loud smack reverberated off of his face. His hand came to cup his cheek and you took a step back, surprised you actually had the balls to do it.

The room went silent, Clay giving you a strangely earnest look that crossed shock with hurt. Your heart stopped.

"Clay, I'm... I'm sorry,” you apologized, realizing what you’d done. Yelling at him would’ve been a more productive move than that - you were grown adults, brawling in a bar. “I should've never done that.”

"What?” Clay asked, his voice small.

“I guess I'm not great at using my words,” you admitted, trying to be as polite as possible. Clay was a big customer - you didn’t exactly want to lose his patronage. “Drinks are on me.”

You brushed a hand on his cheek gently, inspecting the slight red mark. He leaned into it, just enough for you to analyze it for nights after, but not too much.

“Can I kiss you?” Clay asked all of the sudden.

Glancing at him, your eyes softened slightly, confused. You bit your lip, sure you'd never get the chance again. You’d be lying to say you'd never thought about it, never fantasized about it. The way his lips would feel against yours, the way his hands would feel rubbing up and down your sides. In your hair.

“Why would you want to do that," you laughed slightly, crossing your arms over your stomach.

“I think I love you,” Clay admitted bluntly.

“Clay,” you said.

“What?” he asked.

“I just slapped you and now you love me?” you reiterated, hoping he’d understand how crazy that was. How unfortunate that was. “No, Clay, you know you don't love me. You love that I listen to you.”

Clay wasn’t convinced. “No, I think I do,” he claimed with conviction. “I want to.”

You sighed, resigning yourself to bear your soul. You placed your hands down flat on the bar, no longer sticky.

“Look… I like you, Clay. More than I should. But you have a wife,” you reminded. “And the way you look at Daniel is nothing like me.”

You couldn’t deny the gazes you’d seen them share - and the way the jealousy held you in its vise.

“That’s because you're different.”

With a sigh you replied, “Ask me when you're sober. It won't make either of us feel any better right now.”

And that was the gimmick, wasn’t it? He loved you when he was drunk. And even if he loved you sober, he never was.

Always two drinks in, always two feet apart.

[leatherandbourbon-a]

@snnynatural

“But every time I think about not having you in my life I literally break into a million pieces.”

— Unknown

[gretahayes]

hii i would love to hear about medusa and other such musings 🫶

OKAY so medusa is this hugeeee thing for me that’s like. an exploration of csa (& sa/sexual harassment! connor represent 💪) trauma via (kev smith archer's quest era) mia, late sb94 kon (who atp is house hunting due to becoming recently homeless) & connor (who timeline-wise is recovering from being shot in the head). it takes place over the course of the week ollie & roy are on their road trip (archer's quest ❤️) so it’s a chapter per day + a prologue (day zero) + a shorter day 8 (when ollie comes back). mostly based off the fact that i think the arrows could be really good for kon to unpack that kind of shit, plus the fact that the place i put it in the timeline is crucial — ollie is temporarily gone, mia is freshly w/ the arrows & still reeling from the trauma of the almost decade of her life & finally being in a place to process it, connor just got shot in the head and is still unsteady from that & just got his dad back, and this is the best place before tt03 i could grab kon & make him slow down, put him in an environment where he can do that. kon-mia parallels are fascinating to me and they can be bad-good for each other

it will take forever. but it will be worth it when i finish it.

excuse me being on mobile but here's three excerpts bc bro is gonna be longggg and also it’s precious. to me

^ day 1

^ day 2

^ day 5

x

[duckbang]

Two Dots

Two dots form a line. Two electrons form a bond. Two people form a friendship.

It gets a bit more complicated after that.

Three dots don't make two lines. They can make three, or they can make one. But three electrons don't form three bonds. They form a free radical - well, they can make two bonds in certain circumstances, look at diborane, but banana bonding is weird… it isn’t exactly a three electron bond either. Three people still form a friendship, but it can be tilted, and as they say, three is a crowd.

Where the laws of gravity devised a smooth dance between two planets, between three it is chaotic loops of who will be kicked out first. With three comes the chaos that two had successfully covered in its simplicity.

There were three of us. Me, my brother, and my sister. And well, there is our dad - single and adoptive- and our honorary aunt, who has no relation to our dad apart from friendship. But the three of us were together from the start, since before we met the adults we call family.

We're not three anymore. We could be, we still talk to each other, through telepathy if not face to face. But we aren't together anymore. My brother and sister live together, in a remote, almost inaccessible location. One could go there, but the trip is harsh and not at all forgiving. I live with my dad and aunt, helping them with work.

But right now I stand on a stage, to give an interview with the news stations, one that is not related to dad's research but to my own. I started out helping with his work, but over time my interest deviated to researching animal behaviour within and without their herds (or flocks, or whatever the groups of specific animals are called). There's a hierarchy in both pack animals and lone dwellers. It is challenged often, but the top boss is the top, and not easily defeated. No matter how hard the planets try, they can't make the sun revolve around them. (Well, in a way, the sun does revolve around them. Its the pack leader’s job to make sure their pack is safe. Its a position that comes with both power and responsibility.)

My aunt stands to the side of the stage, hidden by the curtains. I glance at her before turning back to the press. My latest paper created a buzz, for reasons I don't quite understand. It was obvious, wasn't it..? "I simply find it surprising that no one has written anything about it yet, so after detailed research I decided to do it myself," I say in response to a question.

It took years to get enough data. 

"You taught a gryphon how to write with a pencil."

The gryphon in question is, of course, the brilliant silver and earth coloured beast sleeping on the stage, unbothered by the lights and noise. I met it in the beginning stages of my research, when we were scouring out the dry canyons the species calls home. Gryphons aren't pack animals, they prefer to stay alone, but at the same time they're not territorial and let other members of the species prowl and hunt in their area. Mine was a youngling at the time, possibly separated from its mother, because gryphon parents do not look for lost children. I decided to take it in, a decision I have never come to regret.

"It has been known for a long time that gryphon intelligence is comparable to, if not exceeding, human intelligence. It should not come as that great of a surprise," I point out gently. 

Their body design is different from humans, but with specialised tools and lots of practice and explanation it was able to hold a pencil, and with a few more months of work it managed to write it's name on a large sheet, and it was readable.

Maybe that could be a strategy used to help children with learning disabilities, I muse, but don't say it out loud. It's not my area of expertise, but maybe I'll bring it up with a teacher later. Journalists are not good people to discuss things like this with. 

My sister's presence makes itself known via a slight pressure on the back of my head, silently asking if I'm free. Wait, I tell her. Not right now.

I feel her nod as she retreats further into the back, enough that I can focus, but she's clearly interested in what I'm doing. I don't blame her. I'll never get bored of my job either. 

"Look at it this way," I say in response to a question I didn't entirely hear, "Gryphons don't see other members of their species as threats. They challenge each other for territory, yes, but they share their resources. The hierarchy is more of a gradient than a stepcase, with the largest and oldest member of the species usually at the top of it." And its often hard to tell who that is, it took me close to a year to find the leaders of the respective areas I focused on.

Even mine, who had started off obeying commands without question, had become more assertive as it grew older and larger. And now it is bigger than me, our mutual understanding and the gryphon nature being the only things keeping it obedient. Still, it was smart, and would refuse to do a task if it sensed that the job would harm someone, friend or stranger. 

My brother's presence curls around in my subconscious as I keep speaking, curiosity and warning intermixing as he decides to not detract my attention and talks to our sister instead. "Gryphons have been seen to treat even those who hurt them with compassion and kindness, and it is only in extraordinary situations that they seriously injure anyone. We could certainly learn something from that."

A babble of indignation meets my statement. “Humans are perfect,” they say, furious. “We don't need to learn from dumb animals.”

Both of my siblings bristle on hearing them.

I do, too, but keep my composure as I narrow my eyes.

"Humans have often killed each other over minor misunderstandings. Is that what you call perfect?"

No species is perfect. Human capacity to understand and adapt our behaviour is unmatched, so it gives us more avenues to grow. It is a shame that even 'simpler' animals like dogs, then, outmatch us in understanding, cooperation, and compassion.

Once, before I started working as a researcher, before we started living separately, the three of us decided to follow a pack of wild dogs to see where they would go. We were old enough to be trusted alone by then, and with school being on vacation we didn't have anything to worry about. So we packed our bags with enough food and clothes to last us a week and set off behind the pack.

It was an interesting experience. But what stood out to me most then, and even now, was how they made sure no member of their pack was left behind, and if one was injured they would slow their pace considerably so it could keep up. Gryphons don't do that, but they're not exactly social species. That was the incident that kicked off my interest in behaviour research in the wild, instead of trained behaviours in the lab.

Sure, my gryphon knows how to write, but it is a lab animal. I taught it mainly just to see what would happen, as with the landshark we taught to buy groceries.

I should probably take up researching dogs behaviour again, but for the foreseeable future Gryphons have a chokehold on my research. The latter is also what I tell a reporter asking what's next for my work, and after answering a few more questions and dodging those about my family, the conference moves on to some other scientists I forget the name of. But I'm free to leave or stay now, as I wish. I decide to stay, finally getting time to talk to my siblings who've been waiting for about an hour now.

It must be serious, if they decided to wait. 

So, she projects, amusement laced in her voice, You know how two dots form a line?

I don't have the patience for this, I decide immediately.

Well, I was thinking, and you can't have a combination of points that makes exactly two lines, if you want to connect all of them. Two dots form one line, but three form three, or one, and four form four or three or one, and so on, but no assortment makes two. That's weird, isn't it?

I thought you hated maths? my brother replies.

Get to the point, I tell her as I take the complimentary lunch box the organisers had so thoughtfully put together. Is the number of lines really that important?

I do, I was just thinking. And well... There really isn't any point. I just thought it was weird.

And here I thought it was something serious, I think. Unfortunately they pick up on my thoughts.

Aw, you worry about me? my sister teases as I settle down to eat.

Not if you keep being annoying like that, I respond. My brother laughs at that.

With that sorted out by tracking down a mathematician or two who were free to talk to my sister and giving them her address - which, again, directed them to an almost inaccessible area, and with my gryphon finally awake enough to fly us back to our home, I decided to finally head out of the conference hall. The sky, already orange and pink from the setting sun on one side and fading to the deep blue of night on the other, cloudless and the air without much in the way of wind, stood perfect for flying. My gryphon's wings reflected the fading light of the sun as we rose into the air, turning to gold from silver and the deep browns gave it a brilliant shaded look. It was a work of art, through and through. 

It takes two people to form a friendship, two souls for a connection. I know it's silly, but I've never felt more connected to anyone more than my silver and earth gryphon. Even my siblings, and we can talk to each other through telepathy, never made me feel the same way as simply being with my gryphon does. I ruffle the soft feathers on its back, feathers that almost look like fur from a distance, so soft and small. I have never regretted bringing it home with me, even if it does challenge me for my bedroom sometimes. 

I space out during the flight, almost falling asleep to the beating of its heart and the occasional flap of its wings. There's no danger of falling, my gryphon is a graceful and careful flyer. As such, with the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon and the only thing lighting up the sky being a pale twilight, I doze off, trusting my friend to keep both of us safe. 

[leatherandbourbon-a]

@snnynatural 🥺

“I love you like a child looking at the stars without being able to touch them.”

— Unknown

[recordstellar-official]

Bootstraps and Philogenesis

Scene 2: A second intermission before the quarter rest

9th of Thermidore Y227 2nd Unity

There was nothing going on. And it was a good time to figure out what some of these nicknames were. Dulni twisted the prism in her hand, letting the light reflect off of the silver at its core. "Sandwich?" Dulni asked.

"...oh that. It's nothing. Really," Lialka replied.

"Besides, didn't he say calling the etching was only for emergencies?"

"I think your dad would agree that intense boredom is itself an emergency," Dulni quipped back.

"Oh no, you're right. You're right and worse, you sound like my brother."

"By the way, how is he? Are you ever stopping by Dragon Spire?"

"He's doing well. Just got him out of retirement, so he's not too happy about that," Lialkareplied. "We've got all of Feygard as a priority anyway. By the way, is that all you have going on? A relic hunt thrown on you by my dad?"

"Yeah. It's probably going to be a quick round trip though. I doubt we have enough equipment or supplies to camp overseas for long."

"Oh we don't need either," Kip replied.

"What?" Dulni asked.

"What we have stowed away below decks is worth the extra charges spent to have it delivered in transit."

"Oh that thing you had us waiting for before we left early," Kellarin quipped.

"Yeah, before the mist kicked in earlier than I had planned," Kip replied.

Dulni shrugged.

"Ok, so what's getting us in and out fast?"

"I'll explain when you're done with your friend. I don't need the State listening in on my plans."

"She's a friend. She can be trusted."

"Not as long as she or any of her own wear a badge, they can't. At least not by me. And by extension you when you're working for me or with me. Got it?"

A click sounded on Lialka's end as she heard Dulni hang up. Typical Dulni. Always fighting. Too bad she didn't have a chance to warn them of the reef just off the continent. She chuckled. She may be working for a coercive construct built on collective agreement, but L.A.D.D.E.R was the closest thing to a legitimate anarchy she'd ever seen. There was no central authority, just rank awarded through competency and merit. Administrators were masters at skills related to their contracted specialty or department. The only authorities they could even be considered beholden to were the plane of Augur-machinus and the union of Valsien/LirinThael Koirrym, the latter of which funded the expeditions and special assignments that allowed for the free travel and loose diplomacy extended to their agents. It was better than having to found your own guild. Lialka mused on thoughts related as she walked to a cupboard in the galley to grab herself a drink. Juhn voice echoed up through the staircase leading to the bunks.

"Sister, do you have any of those dream catchers you put away?"

Juhn. He was in the hallway. Outside the room he had led Raina to.

"Do you need help getting the couches installed?"

Juhn watched as Lialka's shadow extended toward the chime-ladder.

"Yes, actually that would be appreciated."

[moonglowmagic]

Pilar Santos || 32 years old || Vampire || Figure Skating Instructor & Dance Teacher 

TW: murder, poisoning

Arrived in town around March 2023

Is an only child who was raised by her grandmother, aunts, and uncles. 

Might have some daddy issues since her dad always ignored her and she constantly tried to get his approval.

She’s a former hunter; who was never really a good hunter anyways. She hated hurting people. 

Ended up focusing on figure skating as a distraction from hunting. Which she ended up really good and was eventually partnered with @icexpackxjc​. 

Ended up poisoning him due to pressure from her family which cost him his career. Which while hunting him she found out about Lunar Cove. 

On a hunting trip with her dad they ended up attacked by vampires and she ended up turned. 

Might have murdered her dad in self defense.

Is 100% a ripper so watch out.

Knew she couldn’t go home so came to Lunar Cove instead 

Loves skating, archery, dancing, roller skating, knitting

Is a true cinnamon roll and the nicest person you could ever meet. 

Her closet is a mix of soft colors and pastels. She loves everything pastel. 

Her favorite color is mint green. 

Currently is living with Chai Rune ( @cantfightmoonlight​ )

Want to know more about Pilar Santos?

❀ Biography ❀ Tag on my personal

Tagging System:

❀ Threads Want to find a certain person? Search ( ft. name here. ) ❀ Musing ❀ Mirror ❀ Playlist

Wanted Connections:

❀ Coming soon

[thewolfruns]

muse: rhiannon nankova open to: all genders. setting: zombie apocalypse – rhiannon survived and because of her poor judgment, wasn’t with her glaciologist father on a research trip at amundsen-scott in antarctica. good luck? bad luck? who knows! but she thinks maybe your muse skipped the trip this time too and knows something or went with and they made it back. does your muse know what happened to professor ivan nankov? triggers: potential parental death, apocalyptic themes

rhiannon looked again at the map. she couldn’t be sure that the rolodex in her father’s old berkeley office had been up to date, but it was better to follow the lead (however impossible) than to do nothing. she’d made the mistake of spending an ill-advised summer chasing some stupid boy and hoping he’d fall in love with her instead of her normal research assistant responsibilities with her father at the amundsen-scott base in antarctica. she could’ve had her masters by now if she hadn’t let herself get so distracted by the idea of being in love (and being duped by illegitimate tinder dates) and now, face to face with the end of the world, she didn’t even know if her dad was on the continent. let alone if he was still alive. 

so she’d pulled the contact information off his office rolodex–what a luddite–and decided to search for any of his old colleagues that might’ve gone with him. research assistants, professors, cooks, you name it, she was on the hunt. the first few places were empty and in the fourth, she’d nearly risked a bite from a walker that had caught her by surprise. she wasn’t a great fighter, but after spending so much time with her father in the coldest place on earth, she had a few survival skills. and, hell, she’d survived this long. somehow. 

it felt silly to knock, but this address seemed to be free of the living and the dead. if she closed her eyes or looked only at her feet, she could almost pretend it was a normal day. and, still, it felt like intruding to search the place without knocking first. so she knocked and hoped against hope that this person–if no others–would be home. and, maybe, they could tell her if her father had ever made it back from antarctica before the outbreak or if he was still there. maybe as clueless as ever, thinking he had a chance at coming home to a living world. the only thing to do know was wait.

[leatherandbourbon-a]

@snnynatural

[fiinalgiirls]

muse: rhiannon nankova open to: all genders. setting: zombie apocalypse – rhiannon survived and because of her poor judgment, wasn’t with her glaciologist father on a research trip at amundsen-scott in antarctica. good luck? bad luck? who knows! but she thinks maybe your muse skipped the trip this time too and knows something or went with and they made it back. does your muse know what happened to professor ivan nankov? triggers: potential parental death, apocalyptic themes

rhiannon looked again at the map. she couldn’t be sure that the rolodex in her father’s old berkeley office had been up to date, but it was better to follow the lead (however impossible) than to do nothing. she’d made the mistake of spending an ill-advised summer chasing some stupid boy and hoping he’d fall in love with her instead of her normal research assistant responsibilities with her father at the amundsen-scott base in antarctica. she could’ve had her masters by now if she hadn’t let herself get so distracted by the idea of being in love and now, face to face with the end of the world, she didn’t even know if her dad was on the continent. let alone if he was still alive. 

so she’d pulled the contact information off his office rolodex--what a luddite--and decided to search for any of his old colleagues that might’ve gone with him. research assistants, professors, cooks, you name it, she was on the hunt. the first few places were empty and in the fourth, she’d nearly risked a bite from a walker that had caught her by surprise. she wasn’t a great fighter, but after spending so much time with her father in the coldest place on earth, she had a few survival skills. and, hell, she’d survived this long. somehow. 

it felt silly to knock, but this address seemed to be free of the living and the dead. if she closed her eyes or looked only at her feet, she could almost pretend it was a normal day. and, still, it felt like intruding to search the place without knocking first. so she knocked and hoped against hope that this person--if no others--would be home. and, maybe, they could tell her if her father had ever made it back from antarctica before the outbreak or if he was still there. maybe as clueless as ever, thinking he had a chance at coming home to a living world. 

[xalicitie]

Something a Little More — Vance Hopper x Female OC Character

Navy DeHaan is a 16 year old working cop trainee, apart of the Denver Police Department—DPD—of Colorado. When called into a more ramshackle, downtrodden town hosting itself at the rim of Colorado, where an ongoing line of teenage boys have been allegedly “disappearing out of thin air”, Navy enters the investigation in pursuit of who has been the catalyst of these missing kids, as well as a rivalry yet friendship between a hostile teenage boy named Vance Hopper.

TW: Blood, cussing, perversion

AN: I probably won’t continue this story on for too long since I’m not too interested in the characters or the premise but whatevs

📞📞📞📞📞📞📞📞📞

CHAPTER 1: Kickstart

“Is it just me, or did the air just turn fuckin’ nasty?”

My dad’s raucous voice meshed with the Led Zeppelin song playing on the radio.

“We’re a long way from home.” I sighed, shuffling in the car seat that had likely numbed my entire body. “Honestly. Why’re these murders taking place in a hellhole like this?” My brown eyes treaded along the pastel horizon to meet with the stubby buildings building up decently far off into the distance. This sky felt empty, juxtaposed to the much chattier one in Denver which was encapsulated with the ends of skyscrapers reaching for the clouds. The sky drifting above this town was starkly silent, a feature I found somewhat..eerie. Maybe it was the dawning case I’d have to work on in this town for the extent of our stay here, which I found myself hoping would be a more..diminutive amount of time.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, kiddo.” I might’ve counted every swirl drowning in the clouds by now. Road trips were one of my least favorite things, although we did travel habitually.

“Hey. Even though this place seems harmless, you know I want you safe at all times. Curfew at 9, Navy.”

“The suspect, who we have no clues as to what this person may look like, is hunting boys.” I expressed with a gesture of the hand. “Plus you know I can take care of myself. If I get caught, you’ll know the suspect’ll able to handle a policeman’s daughter, one endeavoring for a spot maybe even higher than her father’s.”

“That’s the last thing I’d want, Navy—you know this isn’t a game, right?” His tone cut through the underlying electric guitar solo as his hostile gaze grazed mine. My lips stayed a thin line as my chest heaved heavenwards. “No messing around, not with something like this going on. You should’ve been taught that lesson long ago.”

“It was a joke.” The squeak rashly left my lips, my volition thrown out of the car window.

The rest of the car ride was filled with more boisterous metal songs before we’d finally arrived to the place. It was frankly worse than the semblance of the town I’d formed in my head. The buildings weren’t even reaching for the sky—they were holding their hands a few inches into the air, dangling their claws as far as a turtle could raise it’s fat head up. Pi-ti-ful.

God, how was I going to survive even a few damn months here? The smell was dehumanizing enough.

However, one of the likely only pros of living in this shithole was that I’d probably know everyone who’d walk these streets by, give it, two months. That was what I’d always heard of small towns; everyone was apparently connected—everyone knew every kid and their mom, that was just how it worked.

I found myself musing on what the minuscule set of pros might be as my dad and I pulled up to a gas station. By now we were starting to reach what I took was the center of the town.

“Could you get some snacks?” My dad spoke up as he parked the car, digging into his wallet before hovering his hand in the air. There was still an underlying bitterness lingering in my vindictive eyes as we shared a glare, but I snatched the card from his hand with a swipe before swinging the car door open.

Moments later I was stepping into the first place I’d ever walk into in this town.

Nosy eyes followed me everywhere I went as I roamed the various aisles. Everyone was in their own corners amidst their own friends, and they were clearly gossiping amongst themselves—the hushed tone of their voices told it’s tale. I grabbed a handful of snacks hastily and sauntered over to the counter.

My mien was of a I-don’t-want-to-be here—I-didn’t-even-fucking-sign-up-for-this—get-me-out type style, yet no matter how evident I desperately tried to make that seem, someone still decided to mess with me and my mood.

“You’re new here, huh?”

I hadn’t taken much notice of the cashier until that very moment. He was a middle aged man, who was seemingly going through his balding stage. But there I knew being more than just nice—he was interested in me, it was crystal clear in the sly lecherousness sporting his blue eyes, fixing them into a darker shade.

I’d dealt with people like this before. Only desiring walking back out of that doorway, I opted to keep the situation trivial.

“Mhm.” I murmured shortly, which surely gave off the underlying impression that I was definitely not into older men. But this man was relentless.

“So. You gonna tell me your name, pretty?”

A groan slithered from the crease of my dry lips. This was getting to be tedious.

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic, babe! Tell me your name.”

The nickname “babe” nearly threw me off, but I stood my hard ground nevertheless. Anger began to bubble like hot molten lava underneath my shielded, tan skin.

“Navy.” I reluctantly but stubbornly replied.

“Ah! Navy, as in the army! You know, such a manly name shouldn’t be given to such a beautiful young lady-“

A scowl tore onto my face like a piece of leather that had been slashed through by a dagger’s blade.

“Okay, give me the bag, dipshit.”

And it was as if everyone had taken a screeching halt.

Albeit, the ringing engulfing the whole of my ears was almost deafening enough to block out the silence and the whispers, seconds later I’d came to the revelation that nearly everyone in the goddamn station was alerted of our discord. My face was fuming red—I just wanted to get to my new, awful home and get. The fuck. Out of here. As my twitching hand then hovered over the pocket of my military jeans, the man held a vexed glower.

“Okay, get over here, you little-“

And that was when another figure came swinging into action adjacent to me, all to my damn discombobulation and utter shock.

His hand had deftly gripped the man’s forearm—the boy who’d stepped into the fight—and then.. and then his other was wrapped around the cover of the tip jar. And-And that’s when suddenly his arm had smashed the jar onto the man’s fist with a deafening crash, eliciting an anguished cry of pain from the cashier’s throat.

“One thing to know about this town—“ As the figure turned onto his heel, I realized then that he was a teenage boy, definitely near or even of my age. But that wasn’t what had seized my attention—no, it was the disheveled, gaudy blonde hair that trickled to the muscle of his broad shoulders. At least that was three quarters of it, actually. The rest was drawn into the incandescent blue thriving in his driven eyes. Hubris shone off of him like a damn aura. “Perverts run the streets like mice, bitch. You should thank me: I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need the saving, asshole.” I griped, fatigued by the second egotistical male I’d encountered today. God, this town really favored flamboyant men. Taking the grip of my trusty dagger between the mold of my fingers, I put my knife on display as if proving my worth. “My dad’s a police officer. And frankly, I would’ve handled the situation much better.”

“What, so you have a knife. Were you going to wave it around the guy’s head like a baby flashes his fucking toy? You’re half of his size, little girl!” My face puckered with utter and complete disdain as I rose up to retort another comeback.

“Navy! What the fuck!”

And then my eyes bulged promptly into two round circles as the voice zipped into my ears. I had discerned the holder of the words the moment one syllable had been perceived in my mind. Turning languidly, I twisted around to face the man: my father, whom stood with a boiling red face right in the middle of the store doorway. A wad of spit descended down my taut throat in that moment as our similar gazes crashed, and mine softened slightly in a diffidence. I could just hear his condescending comments rising in my ears like a cataclysmic wave.

Oh, this really had to be right after our fight. He was gonna get my ass for this one.

“Officer! Officer!” We were both simultaneously snapped out of our stare, having averted our eyes cautiously to the worker. His hand was dripping of crimson red. “Those two! Arrest them!”

“No. This wasn’t my daughter, she wasn’t taught this way.” He muttered in a raspy tone, stomping his feet against the station floor. He returned to his position beside me, eyes flickering between me and the worker and the boy behind manically. “Was it you, boy?!”

My gaze glided over to the teenage boy. It was obvious by how he held his breath that he—no matter how inflated his ego may be—was intimidated by my dad’s burly stance. I almost laughed aloud.

“He was hitting on your daughter. I had to do something about it.” A roll played on my eyes. “It wasn’t like I was crying for you help, blondie—“

“He was hittin’ on my daughter?!”

I turned to the damned cashier. It was as if his insolent life had flashed right before his tormented eyes. “Get over here! Now!”

“God almighty..” I muttered, rubbing the aches of my temples as my dad ran around and to the back the the counter.

Turns out that this town was so much worse than aforementioned. Per-Perfect.

“Why’d you even move here?”

My pupils, surrounded by a chocolate brown, drifted to the brazen boy once more. I had found myself shocked as to how sincerely interested those few words had been, compared to the tempestuous ones he’d been spitting at me before.

“No one who wears clothes that look that fucking expensive come over here.”

A breezy sigh fell from my lips. “It’s only temporary.” I confirmed with a tedious voice, wrapping my arms in a tight hold. “I’ll run out of this city if I’m forced to.”

“You should while you can, Navy.” The way his tongue played my name vexed me. “Well, you’ve stolen enough time from me, cunt, I have to get back to my game.”

“Could I at least have a name?” I poked once more, prying for information on the guy. His frizzy hair of blonde halted before the forefront of his face overturned the back of his head, bringing him to face my inquiring countenance.

“You’d probably figure it out without getting it from me, anyway.” The boy paused. “Vance Hopper.”

I was just about to comment about how stupid his name was before my dad called my name out in a yell. Before sauntering out of the store, I turned to the boy a last time.

“Stop fucking cussing, Vance Hopper.” I quipped before running off back to my father.